


With Each Step

by kayura_sanada



Series: Souls Made of Dream and Idea [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: But a lovable one, Dancing, F/M, Friendship, Just a Hint of Romance, Sort of an Intro to Pinga, Varric is a Snoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 07:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6508024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayura_sanada/pseuds/kayura_sanada
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavellan has a weakness that the nobles at the Winter Palace could exploit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Each Step

Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish it were mine. Would keep safe and happy if mine.

* * *

 

Pinga peeked past the door to Josephine's office, her long fingers wrapping around its coarse edge to peer wide-eyed into the room. Josephine was at her desk, of course, but for once, no one stood before her awaiting instruction. She hurried inside. “Josephine?”

Josephine looked up, her quill stilling as she took in Pinga's unusually hunched form. “Inquisitor?”

Pinga winced and looked behind her, almost as if a horde of followers would come bursting through the door at the sound of her name. Then, realizing just how ridiculous she appeared, she straightened. “Josephine. Are you doing something egregiously important right now?”

Josephine looked down, then back up, then back down. “No?” she asked. She still held her quill.

“Great. Then I need to ask you for a favor. A large one.”

Josephine raised a brow and stood as Pinga turned and locked the door behind her. She took a deep, restorative breath before turning to her adviser. “All right. We're going to be heading to the Winter Palace, right? Only a couple of weeks until the empress' ball.” She twisted her hands together.

“Inquisitor, do you fear you will not be able to handle the Game?” Josephine came out from behind her desk, her hand trailing lightly across the edge of the wood as she stepped forward. “Well, you have done well studying Orlesian history, and you have spent a lot of time with Leliana learning how to learn information without showing your own hand, have you not?” Pinga nodded. “I cannot argue that it is difficult, however. Orlais' nobles spend their lives playing the Game, everyone trying forever to find new ways to gain footholds within its confines. Your concern is not unwarranted.”

But Pinga didn't make any sound of agreement. Instead she looked behind her again, then took a final deep breath and blurted, “I can't dance.”

Josephine went terribly silent.

“No, that's not – I can.” Pinga put a hand to her forehead. “But we _elvhen_ do not dance as you do. Ours are the dances of the huntress Andruil, or the _Vir'Vunin_. But our traditional dances are not yours.”

“Oh dear.” Josephine put a hand to her cheek. “It is true. We did not consider the difference in our cultures. You must forgive me. Of course I can help you.”

Pinga nearly sagged with relief. “Oh, thank you! I know I could have likely asked Dorian, but he would have mocked me for it incessantly. And Vivienne would have held it over my head until I died.”

Josephine giggled. “Yes, it likely is for the best that you came to me.”

She would likely have to endure at least a little teasing, but it was inevitably better than asking for help from her other two viable options. “Thank you,” she said again, and stepped further into the room.

In all honesty, she didn't quite know what to expect. Josephine getting up in front of her and grabbing her hands, though, was pretty low on the list. Pinga blinked up at the woman. “I'm sure you know the basic steps, correct? If you have danced before, you know the placement of feet and the sway of hips are most important. I'll show you the most popular steps first, then work you through the most common dances.”

Josephine's hands in hers were slightly bigger, but so soft it felt like holding satin. When the woman held her close, the subtle scent of her perfume wafted around Pinga, a floral, almost woodsy scent, that relaxed Pinga more than anything else.

Despite how soft and delicate Josephine seemed, her back stood straight and her stance strong as she carefully led Pinga into a sashaying motion, the movement of one leg and the rocking of the opposite hip. “This is a _complément_ step,” Josephine said, the word rolling off her tongue with a fluidity that only belonged to her native language. “If nothing else, it can be used to recognize the necessary movements in every dance. This is the start of all Orlesian dances.”

In other words, it was all about aesthetics. She recognized that; in the legends of her people, it was said that dances could last for lifetimes, when they were immortal, and could include several partners, or even an entire village's worth. Elves would work in syncopation with each other, their bodies creating a sort of harmony. Each flex of muscle, each sift of one's stance, could tell of loss or joy or strife.

Josephine placed her hand on her back and led her through a slightly more complicated version of her odd swaying move. It was strange. There was something about Josephine that showed approachability, but only up to a point. It was probably the air of dignity she used as a wall between herself and those around her. A polite distance, no matter how friendly or accepting she seemed.

Now that distance was breached. Josephine placed a hand against Pinga's back, another into her own. Josephine's chest brushed lightly against Pinga's as she spoke, telling Pinga how they were about to move just before they did so. Each movement was like water for Josephine; within seconds, it was clear she had done these dances so often as to make her body one with the movement. Josephine's outfit rustled softly as she moved, her puffy shoulders concealing the world beyond her from view, until all Pinga could see was Josephine's jaw and the bright gild in the woman's clothes. Pinga could easily imagine Josephine gliding along the dance floor, somehow closing deals even as she swung around the court. It was a bit intimidating, seeing the echoes of Josephine in her prime as they did nothing more than step along the floor.

Pinga was led through a few more simple movements, then shown a few odd dances that involved little to no touching. Dances that seemed to reflect the way Josephine spoke, poised and private, more than anything else. She instantly disliked them.

Josephine worked with her for what seemed like hours, watching her movements and fixing her mistakes. “You stepped out too far, Inquisitor,” or, “watch your hands; you _must_ keep them level.” But the dances were relatively short, at least, and Pinga was able to learn three of them, though she would have to practice in her room to ensure she remembered them all. “Well done, Inquisitor!” Josephine said finally, applauding lightly as Pinga came to rest at the end of the final dance. “You learn very quickly. Have you done this before?”

Pinga thought back to when her clan's Keeper Lavellan had taken her in, huddled against the bitter winds and stinging rains beneath the thin blanket she bore. She thought of the bow Istimaethoriel gave her, the thing foreign and big in her hands. “I learned a few dances. Our keeper taught them to me, though I showed no inclination with magic. They gave me balance and flexibility, however, and helped me learn the bow.”

“Showed no inclination with – oh!” Josephine put a hand to her chest. “Such things are taught to your First, correct?”

Pinga nodded. “Yes. There are dances we still perform, which all of us know. But I was shown some of the older ones, once Keeper Istimaethoriel saw my proficiency with the more common ones.” She shifted; her keeper could actually get in trouble for it; some of those dances had been sacred to her people, back when they'd been well-known. “I think she just wanted them to live on in someone who could bring them to life. Neither she nor our first are able to do some of the more difficult moves.”

“I would love to see them some day. If I may?” Josephine asked.

Pinga shrugged. “I don't know. But if I ever learn I can, I will show them to you.”

Josephine smiled. “I look forward to it, Inquisitor.” She folded her hands in front of her. “Would you like to convene again tomorrow to practice some more?”

“If it's not too much trouble?” At Josephine's dismissal, Pinga continued, “then yes. And...” She bit her lip. How else to learn? she chided herself, and spoke. “And I would like to practice your waltz.”

That startled a larger response from the woman. That hand returned to her chest. “The waltz?”

Pinga nodded. “I've heard of it. A woman in a village my clan traded with showed me a few simple steps once. She said it was the dance of courtship for humans?”

“Of a sort,” Josephine said, her accent getting stronger as she slowly articulated her response. “May I ask why?”

Pinga kept her gaze steadfast, but couldn't keep her cheeks from flushing. She hoped her vallaslin helped cover the reaction. From Josephine's face, she guessed it hadn't. “Just in case,” she said.

Josephine was far too sharp for that. To her credit, however, she kept silent. “Of course, Inquisitor. I would be happy to help.”

Pinga sighed in relief. “Thank you.” She bowed slightly, then turned to the door. She wondered if Josephine didn't ask out of courtesy, or because she already knew why – or for whom – Pinga asked. Or perhaps she would just meet with Leliana later and find out from her. Leliana probably had a file on the two of them or something.

She barely opened the door before Varric and two servants nearly fell in. Pinga jumped back, letting Varric crash to the floor. One of the servants fell over him, one of her knees digging into the dwarf's back hard enough to make him yelp. The other, a messenger Pinga often saw waiting before Josephine's desk, stood regally, peering down her nose at the two. Just down the hall, Sera snorted out a raucous laugh.

Josephine sighed. “Can I help you?” she asked.

“No!” Varric said, hoisting himself off of the ground. The servant on his back fell backward. Her flailing arm smacked Varric on the back of the head. “Ow!”

Pinga rolled her eyes. “Varric, please tell me you don't make a habit of trying to listen in on Josephine's private conversations.”

“No!” Varric said again, almost too quickly. Then, catching her eyes, he held up his hands. “Really, Inquisitor. That was just – you were in there for two hours! Nightingale and Curly weren't in there with you, so I knew it wasn't anything end-of-the-world.”

She covered her mouth. No need to egg him on by laughing. “We may still have been discussing something important.”

Pinga heard Sera blow a raspberry before running on. This time she couldn't stifle the chuckle.

“Yeah, well, you weren't,” Varric said. He put his hands down once he realized he wasn't in trouble. The servant scuttled away behind him. The messenger stepped around him and went to Josephine's side. “Actually, you didn't seem to be discussing much of anything. What were you doing in there for so long?”

Pinga shooed him out of the corridor and into the main room. She made sure to close the door behind them, offering Josephine the privacy she'd immediately lost. “We weren't doing anything.”

Varric gave her the fish-eye. “You know, you're a horrible liar.”

Yes, she was. “Just – we were discussing the Winter Palace. She wanted to coach me on human...” She waved a hand. “Things.”

More of that fish-eye. “Uh-huh.” A couple good beats of silence, just to let her know Varric hadn't fallen for that one any more than he had the first. “Well,” Varric said finally, “if you're all right, then can I get back to my mail?”

She looked to the table by the entrance. There seemed to bee some sort of paper ship launching onto the wooden surface. The main sail had the crest of a Free March city on its front. This time it was her turn to make a falsely accepting noise. “Right.” Her gaze nearly slid to the passageway beside the table, but managed to keep her gaze focused straight ahead. Varric was insufferable enough at the moment without catching another sign of weakness.

“Thing of beauty, isn't it?” And Varric smiled at his creation. Pinga couldn't help but laugh. “What are you going to make for its figurehead?”

Varric gave an evil sort of chuckle. “You know, I think I have just the thing. Blondie once mentioned Choir-Boy's belt.”

She had no idea what Varric was talking about. So she asked. And Varric, being the born storyteller he was, happily obliged her curiosity.

* * *

 

Solas leaned beside her on the Winter Palace's balcony, that ridiculous hat covering his head. His hand rested on her shoulder, a solid, comforting feel that reminded her she faced these nation-altering choices with friends at her side. She hadn't had much time for dancing, but there had been one, and it had been important. And knowledge was good whether it had a necessary application or not.

Still, she couldn't help but look back at the ballroom for just an instant. The sound of applause from within caught Solas'  attention, as well, and he pushed off from the balcony's railing. She was about to do the same when he held out his hand. “Come,” he said, and bowed slightly, “before the band stops playing. Dance with me!”

Her heart thrilled. She beamed. “I would love to,” she told him, and took his hand.


End file.
